


Samedi

by vanibella



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brother/Brother Incest, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanibella/pseuds/vanibella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maedhros and Maglor go about their usual Saturday routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Samedi

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Silm. Great book, but it will also ruin you in many ways. This is how I perceive the two, so please read at your discretion. Also,
> 
> Maedhros= Maitimo, Nelyafinwë, Russandol, or Nelyo and Russ  
> Maglor= Makalaurë, Kanafinwë, or Káno
> 
> Hyperextension is a term used that refers to how the legs are slightly slanted backwards, my jazz teacher told how I had it, and yes, you will be more prone to ankle and knee pains.

“No, don’t hang up on me. Don’t you dare do it!”

Maedhros hears his brother before he sees him, which is often wont on most days. During weekdays, it's the raven singing or warming up on the piano, but on Saturdays, they're almost always phone calls with his talent manager. He doesn't mind the protests and insults, and sometimes even the occasional swear, because they're all part of Maglor. 

Saturdays were Maitimo’s favourite day of the week. He could sleep in till noon, but if he otherwise had work or some other previous engagement, it was always without fail that Makalaurë spoilt him. Busy or not, be it him or his brother, the latter stuck to a weekly routine of indulging him on Saturdays. Hence, Maitimo’s favorite day. Of course, it goes without saying that Maitimo returns the favor to his brother as well.

Post-it notes of “I love you!” or “Have a nice day!” pasted onto mirrors or tables or whatever available surface that Káno might happen to pass by in the apartment are a perfect example. Otherwise it’s small flowers or leaves that they later press in books, simple rings or bracelets, running errands, playing therapist, being his muse, and getting Chinese takeout for the ups and downs in life.

The pressed flora they usually hang up in wooden frames on the walls, and Káno currently wears a double ring with a trio of red rhinestones that sit on his middle and fore finger. His newly elevated status as the current chart-topper often brings plenty of mini-dramas, and god forbid that he go psychotic or insane from all of it sometime in the future. Thankfully, he has Maitimo to act as a sounding board whenever some other critic picks a fight with him on his music. Jealous bastards.

This morning is no different. Maitimo walks into the dining room unnoticed as Makalaurë alternates between preparing breakfast and arguing over the phone. Breakfast is one of the many things that Maedhros looks forward to on Saturdays.  
Káno waltzes around the kitchen with the practised grace like that of a professional chef, and even prepares meals like one. Well, no small thanks to Jamie Oliver (that man is a genius). Either way, he’s a good cook. Makalaurë’s wearing an old shirt of Maitimo’s, but because the latter is such a tall person, it falls halfway down Káno’s thighs. It’s cute, the way the shirt slips down one shoulder, and how his long ebony hair is gathered into one long plait, the loose escaped hairs framing his face.

Maedhros leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest with a fond smile on his face. He has a serious case of bedhead, and hasn't bothered to throw on a shirt but he's forgone all of that in favor of greeting Maglor. He watches as his younger sibling tries to make coffee with a phone pressed to his cheek. It’s endearing, the way Makalaurë's still an ardent multitasker.  
The oven suddenly dings, and Makalaurë hurriedly pulls on a pair of mittens. Maitimo’s already one step ahead however, and he places himself in between the raven and the oven. He kisses the other on the mouth and motions for him to relinquish the mitts. Grey eyes momentarily lighting up in surprise and then delight, Makalaurë’s shoulders sag in relief as he mouths a ‘Thank you’ and returns the kiss.

Smiling, Maitimo opens the oven and gingerly reaches in to pull out the tray of strawberry tartlets and quiches that Makalaurë’s baked. Naturally, the pastries are a perfect golden brown on the bottom, and the gruyère cheese on the mini-quiches has melted beautifully to create a snow-like finish on top. Maitimo carefully places the pies onto a cooling rack and subsequently turns to tend the coffee, bacon and fruit. The kitchen soon smells like a mini-café, and it’s no wonder why Káno likes to prepare breakfasts for the both of them. Maybe he should invest in it, but Maitimo’s never really been a good cook. The extent of his culinary skills are eggs and coffee, and everything else that goes into making the table look nice. Arrangements and placing, that’s where he’s good at.

Back in the kitchen, Makalaurë’s still busy with his call. As soon as he spots Maitimo making his way back to grab the orange juice, he shoos the other and tells him to go ahead and eat. It’s through this that Maitimo’s reminded of another one of Káno’s weird quirks as he bends down: booty shorts. For some reason, his brother has a thing for denim shorts cut too short to the thigh, frayed with fringe at the hem, and often torn in strategically placed areas. Perhaps the twerking craze was not yet over for his brother? There was a reason as to why 2014 was dubbed the “Year of the Booty”. Maitimo’s not partial to butts, but he can make exceptions. 

Maedhros knows that this call could last well over an hour, possibly two, but their food is going to get cold and cold bacon is intolerable, offensive even. He quietly makes his way to Káno’s back, and deftly plucking the orange juice from his slack grip (preoccupied with the conversation and all), leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“End the call, please? I don’t wanna eat breakfast late.” Maitimo catches him by the waist, brushes away the soft hair from Káno’s neck, and kisses him there in an attempt to further convince the younger to let go of the mobile. He’s victorious, thankfully.

“Okay, I gotta go. My brother’s being an ass.” Káno yelps as he gets a slap on the rear. 

“We’re not done, though. You got it? Okay, bye.” Finally free of the wretched device, his brother turns in his arms to face him.

“Happy now, Nelyo?” A teasing smile flits to Makalaurë’s lips.

“Very.” He leans down and they kiss again, playful and happy. There’s no tongue involved, but it’s no less love-addled. 

They make their way back to the dining table, and a silent agreement to eat out on the balcony is decided upon. Although the apartment is airy and spacious, filled with light and minimalist in decoration, Makalaurë likes to be surrounded by nature on all sides. Maedhros watches from inside with tender eyes as Kano makes his way out first with a mug of coffee in hand, stretching and yawning as he looks up at the sky and birds.  
Maitimo knows how Makalaurë cherishes his time with him, how he loves and enjoys being able to carry out a semi-domestic routine in this house. His time as a Billboard-topping artist and touring singer had put on a lot of strain on his life, despite being a welcome break from all the anxious auditions and sleepless nights wondering if he would ever make it to the music scene. 

The sudden overnight disappearance of his privacy and any semblance of his former life had shocked Makalaurë into emotional distress. At least it was in this loft that he shared with his brother was he able to relax and reconnect with himself. Away from the prying eyes of the public, he could be himself and say and do whatever he wanted. Maitimo helped him with that, and he often comforted and reassured the other. Though he did occasionally fail, and at times brought even more added stress instead of relief, Maglor was thankful all the same. 

“You gonna help out or not?” Maitimo gestures to the pot of coffee on the counter. 

“Of course I was. It’s a surprise that you haven’t fallen over yet from old age.” Káno leaves his mug on the table outside and heads back inside.

“Just because I get ankle and knee pains on a regular basis doesn’t mean I’m old, my body’s like that. Hyperextension, remember?”

“Oh yes, you’re more prone to injuries in such areas. However, I wonder what ever happened to your head..”

“You're just jealous because I'm smarter."

“At least I can sing.”

“At least I can dance. Who fell in their last concert?” 

"Who slipped on the runway?"

"Who got grilled for twerking on national television?"

By this time, they've practically moved everything outside. Maitimo's last insult however, renders Makalaurë blank and he resorts to shoving a strawberry tartlet into the redhead' s mouth.

“Just shut up and eat. And for your information, it was my back-up dancer who got grilled. ”

Easy banter and coffee, that was how they worked. Káno rubbed the rim of his mug thoughtfully as his brother chewed. It wasn’t easy to get strawberries in the middle of fall, but he managed. 

“Is it good?”

“It tastes weird.”

“Oh no, I knew it!” Kano moved to refill Nelyo’s cup with coffee. “I knew I shouldn’t have-“

“Kidding!” The elder then pulls the latter into his lap, laughing as his brother angrily tugs at his unbound red hair and spits halfhearted curses at him. They eventually end up kissing, red and black mingling as Káno leans down, moaning softly as he's held close. They part, stomachs growling, but it isn’t long before that they're once again laughing and exchanging kisses and eating out of each other’s hands. 

Saturdays are wonderful days indeed.


End file.
